


Dear Belle

by TardisInWonderland



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-01
Updated: 2013-02-01
Packaged: 2017-11-27 18:16:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/664995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TardisInWonderland/pseuds/TardisInWonderland
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rosanna French has no memory of what happened to her before her time in the hospital. She doesn't know what to make of the town, or of herself for that matter, until she receives a mysterious package in the mail full of letters addressed to someone named "Belle..."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dear Belle

**Author's Note:**

> I don't actually know where this came from. I was going to write something with amnesia!Belle, and then Archie just walked in with a package of his own accord. I am not responsible for the aftermath.

_The city was in a strange gray fog._

_It shifted and swam before her eyes, thick and oddly alive, shapes with a human form floating past like ghosts from another life. Some were running, some walking, some sitting and not moving at all. One was dancing, twirling down the path with carefree grace. A pair held hands- perhaps they were lovers._

_The tops of the high rise buildings were visible above the fog, but only just. The rest of the world was hidden in the gray smoke. She kept feeling like she was looking for something, or perhaps it was someone. All she knew was that something was missing, so oddly missing and blank that it made her chest ache._

_She always woke up before she figured out what it was._

X

Rosanna rolled over in her bed, dropping a hand heavily on the screaming alarm clock. Five in the morning and time to get up- there was lots to be done at the library before the opening next week, and she needed to make sure everything was in place. 

She got up and stumbled sleepily into the bathroom for a hot shower. The fatigue just wouldn’t go away lately- it had only been getting worse ever since she’d come home from the hospital two months ago. Ruby said it was probably just stress from the library’s opening, but she could see the false smile that followed, the way it didn’t reach her eyes.

Granted, anything was better than the asylum, and fatigue was a small price to pay for freedom. Rosanna preferred not to think about her time there. She’d been released, and that was all that mattered. The severe case of amnesia that had landed her in that horrible place was still present, meaning that she could remember almost nothing at all from her life before she’d been put in the hospital, save her name and a few basic skills, but according to Dr. Hopper she was perfectly sane and capable of living on her own.

The hot water ran down her back, caressing her skin and easing the stiffness from her limbs. She sighed contentedly, wishing that hot water could ease other things as well- minds, maybe hearts. Everything felt so jumbled lately, and though she could see they meant well, the town residents were so stifling. Someone was almost always “popping by” to make sure everything was alright, and it was so hard to get a moment alone outside her little flat on the corner.

Not to mention that the rest of the town was probably insane.

Oh, she’d heard the conversations, the little whispered things around corners and in secluded hallways that she wasn’t supposed to hear, like the day that David Nolan was talking to Killian Jones in the Sheriff’s office, arguing between the bars.

“You shot her!”

“And yet she has no wound,” Killian said smugly. “Tell me, now- how do you plan on proving that I shot her to a court?”

“That is not my problem.”

“No, it’s your daughter’s problem, innit?”

“I don’t care what you say- you’re not getting out of here. I can still charge you with attempted murder-”

“What? When the star witness lost all her bloody memory?!” the man in the cell positively cackled, and it made Rosanna’s blood run cold. “Good luck with that, mate.”

She shook her head, reluctantly turned off the shower, and wrapped herself in a fluffy towel. The mirror was fogged over, making the room feel much smaller than it usually seemed. The urge to crawl back in her bed and sleep was almost overwhelming, but that simply wasn’t in the cards today. There was too much to be done.

Rosanna slipped on jeans and a loose button down shirt, pulled her damp hair into a ponytail, and walked out the door quickly, eager to get into the sunlight. Maine was a little chilly, but not too cool by any stretch. The short walk to the library was the only time during the day that she felt at peace. Alone, in the sunlight, the world felt alright... but only in the morning.

People would pass her sometimes in the afternoons, looking at her with strange, pitying expressions. Even Ruby and Mary Margaret would do that sometimes, when they thought she wasn’t looking. Granny made sure she took care of herself, always sneaking a little something extra into Rosanna’s order on nights that she was too tired to cook.

Something about Storybrooke made her sad, though. She would pass by places or people, and without knowing why… it would make her so sad. The pawn shop, for instance. It was closed, lonely and cold, the owner off on a trip of some sort. According to Archie, Rosanna had met him before he left, only briefly. She couldn’t tell him if he was right or wrong. All she remembered from the hospital room upstairs was someone talking about magic, and then smashing a teacup by throwing it against a wall… and even that was fuzzy. There wasn’t a face to go with it, and there was barely a voice- Archie said she probably suppressed the incident.

The only reason Rosanna even knew that much had happened was because the fragments of that stupid teacup were still tucked away in a shoebox at the top of her closet. She couldn’t let them throw them away- it didn’t feel right- but she didn’t want to look at them either. It was like she was living in some strange limbo land, a non-existence that was cold and unemotional. She was a shadow living the life that a person must have occupied once.

Rosanna bit her lip to hold back her tears. Archie said she needed to cry, that it was a release, but it only seemed to make things worse. There was no reason for other people to worry more, and some days... some days nothing helped at all. She felt so small, so _broken_.  
Maybe that was why she wanted the cup. 

It was a little like her.

X

She finally made it to the library, still fighting the lump in her throat, and started to shelve the piles of books. It was methodical work, allowing far too much time for thought, but Rosanna simply went on with it and tried to ignore everything but the paper and ink in her hands. She was up on a ladder when the library door opened- no doubt someone coming to check on her. 

“Hi, Rosanna!” Archie’s voice echoed through the building. Rosanna bit her lip and put on the most cheerful façade she could muster. She knew Archie was probably coming to check on her because he was worried about her mental health as an amnesia patient. She wasn’t a psychiatrist, but she wasn’t stupid.

“Hi, Archie!”

The therapy sessions were helping, but it was slow going. After her release from the hospital, Rosanna had been forced to start her life entirely over. She had no idea who anyone was or how to go about living here, and it was rough having so many things introduced so quickly.

She climbed down from the ladder slowly, careful not to slip, and met Archie with a bright smile on her face. Archie was looking around the library at the stacks of books, holding a small brown box.

“How are things going?” he asked, shifting the box back and forth between his hands.

“Better,” Rosanna said. Well, perhaps a better answer would have been “not any worse.” “What’s the box for?” she gestured to the box and Archie looked down, surprised, like he didn’t realize that he still had it.

“For you, actually,” he held it out and Rosanna took it hesitantly, confused. There were several postage stamps and an address written in a spidery hand on the plain brown paper. It wasn’t too heavy, but there was certainly substance to whatever was inside.

“Thanks,” she mumbled, turning it over in her hands. There was a moment of silence before Archie cleared his throat, said his goodbyes, and confirmed that she was supposed to meet him tomorrow for therapy.

As soon as he was gone, Rosanna plopped down in one of the armchairs in the reading area to examine her package. There was no return address, only her name and Storybrooke, Maine, in care of Archie Hopper, but the stamps were from New York. Manhattan, to be exact. Priority mail. She tore open the end carefully, sliding a cardboard box out of the paper. The flaps almost seemed to spring open at her touch, revealing a box stuffed completely full of… papers?

Yes, the box was entirely full of papers, bound together with a red ribbon. Some were postcards, some notebook paper, some folded pieces of computer paper, and one with a stain that was most definitely a coffee ring, but all addressed to someone named “Belle.” 

Why send her these? 

On impulse, she unfolded the paper on top.

_Dear Belle,_

_You’re probably going by a different name now, but you will always be Belle to me, so I will address these letters as such. I will write to you every day while I’m away, regardless of whether you see these letters or remember me when you read them. I want you to know that I’m thinking of you._

_It’s been six hours in this blasted yellow contraption with Emma, and I’m already sick of it. Horseback is far better, in my opinion. It isn’t nearly as jarring to the senses or as bloody fast. Other sitting and riding, there isn’t much to tell about today._

_-Rum_

The date was from a little over two months ago, right after she’d been released from the hospital. Odd. Rosanna been in the asylum all that time- she hadn’t known anyone in the town when she came out, and had even needed to be re-introduced to her father. Who would think to send her letters?  
But, she reminded herself, they weren’t for her. They were for _Belle_ , whoever that was.

But someone had wanted her to have them.

Why? It seemed the only way to find out was to read them. A quick glance through the top few showed that the pile had been tied together in chronological order, with the earliest on top and the most recent on the bottom.  
The stacks of books and dusty shelves nagged at her to get back to work, but she couldn’t tear herself away from the box of letters. Carefully placing the first to the side, she unfolded another.

_Dear Belle,_

_Not much change from yesterday. We’re still driving, I’m still sick, and Emma is still insistent that we need to take a plane instead. I know she’s used to these flying beasts, but I for one prefer my feet planted firmly on the ground._

_The longer we drive the more I think about Bae. I wonder if he’s changed… Somehow I can’t imagine him as anything other than my sweet little boy, but I suppose that’s the way with all parents. I’m sure he’ll love you as much as I do._

_-Rum_

Bae. Odd name. 

“My sweet little boy…” Belle murmured, echoing the letter. So Bae was a son? Surely it was short for something, though she couldn’t think of anything right off the top of her head. And then there was ‘I’m sure he’ll love you as much as I do.’

Who was Belle to this “Rum” person? A friend? A girlfriend? A wife? Maybe just a cousin or even a sister? There was no telling, not just from the first two letters.  
As Rosanna folded the page carefully, she noticed a note scrawled on the back.

_Belle-_

_I swear, if he calls me a nuisance one more time, in his letters or otherwise, I’ll beat him with his own cane. And I mean that in the most supportive way possible._

_-Emma_

So Rum was a man, then, and he was traveling with a woman. An older man, perhaps, if he walked with a cane? “Rum” was positively short for something, Rosanna decided, maybe even a nickname. Rumford, maybe. She’d read that in an old civil war novel once.

The next letter was a little more interesting.

_Dear Belle,_

_We’ve finally reached the city and the search has begun. There’s no telling how long this might take, but I can’t stand the thought that my son is so close but so out of reach._

_I thought that since there isn’t much interesting to report, I might tell you a story in these letters. My story. Our story. However you want to look at it… it’s a story, a fairy tale, if you will._

_Here goes nothing._

_Once upon a time, there was a poor spinner. He lived with his wife and his son in their village in relative peace, until the day that the Ogre Wars began. Every man in the entire village was sent off to fight and die, and the poor spinner went with them._

_Every man in the village died in battle, except the poor spinner, who ran, thinking of his wife and son who needed him at home. He ran towards his family and he ran from death, the one great equalizer. He took a blow that shattered his knee for his cowardice, and from then on needed a staff to walk alone._

_More tomorrow._

_-Rum_

Curious, Rosanna had planned on reading the next letter in the stack, but a series of thuds from the back of the library stopped her. A single glance towards the noise revealed one of the shelves had fallen, and books were scattered everywhere. With a sigh, Rosanna carefully tied up the unread letters and put the two she’d already read back in the box, and went to go tend to the bookshelves. 

It would take several hours plus a trip down to the hardware store to clear up this mess, plus get started on the rest of the things that still needed to be done. The box sat untouched for the rest of the day, but she went home with it tucked lovingly under her arm, layers upon layers of paper hiding a mystery to be uncovered.

X

When she woke up the next morning, she opened another letter. It didn’t say much except that they’d arrived in the city and had begun the search for Bae. She opened the next one quickly, hanging on every word of her own little mystery. 

_Dear Belle,_

_Still searching for Bae. We’ve found no one in the city under that name, and the globe can only tell us so many specifics, but we’re looking. Emma has tried to tell me to stay behind, but how will we find him if I’m not there? What will he do if- when we find him?_

_I’m sure I’m worrying unnecessarily._

_Now, on with the story: The poor spinner was forever branded a coward, and shunned by his wife and his entire village. His son was the only one left in the world who truly loved him, too young to know and understand what his father had done._

_The spinner’s wife wasn’t happy with him. She’d never loved him, and he found her out one night drinking with a pirate in the tavern. The pirate kidnapped her and took her away with him, giving the spinner one chance and one chance only to free her: fight for her._

_Needless to say, the spinner couldn’t fight with his limp, and he would have been too afraid even if it hadn’t been for that. He went back home, and was left to raise his son alone._

_I wish you were here._

_-Rum_

Rosanna didn’t have any clue what he meant by “the globe” leading them to a particular spot, but she assumed that he meant a map of some sort. Maybe a GPS? Something electronic?

These letters were as addictive as a good book, and she couldn’t say why. Rosanna had never been one for long-term correspondence, but at this rate, she would have to pace herself not to read them all in a day or two! 

Perhaps it was the mystery behind it all- who was Rum, and who was the woman he was writing to? Perhaps it was just because she needed something to focus on besides her own worries, besides all the petty little things in small town life. Perhaps it was the story of the poor spinner, or perhaps the story of Rum himself, and his traveling companion. 

This was a story, and she was happy to read it.

X

_Dear Belle,_

_I hope you are well, and I hope things in town continue to go smoothly in my absence and that the dolt of a Sheriff hasn’t managed to screw things up too badly. I assume that Cora is still on the loose with her daughter, along with that bastard of a pirate Jones… By the way, if you’re reading this, don’t go anywhere near him. Stay away- far away._

_I cannot express how much I worry about you, about the town, but I think… If you were yourself, I think you would want me to go. That was what you told me, that you’d be there waiting when I got back, and I’ll hold you to that, even if you may not remember._

_Continuing our story…_

_The spinner raised his son in peace, and his son loved him like he never deserved. However, the time came when it was the boy’s turn to fight in the ogre wars, and the spinner couldn’t bear the thought of losing his son. He ran away with his boy in the night, was humiliated and arrested for trying to evade the draft._

_He met a mysterious old man named Zoso, who told him of a power beyond belief. The old man told the spinner of a dagger that could control the most powerful of all black magic- the Dark One himself. Stab the Dark One with the dagger, and the spinner could take the power for himself. He left Zoso behind and set off on his journey, determined to use the powers of the dagger for good, to stop the wars and save all the children on the front lines. He would save his son and they would live in peace as a family, finally the brave man and good father he had always dreamed of becoming._

_He was foolishly mistaken._

_All magic comes with a price, and this one was dire indeed._

_-Rum_

Magic. What was it about that word that made her so uneasy? Archie never mentioned it, never even used any number of the cliché little phrases akin to “just like magic” when he was around her. Neither did any of the town, now that she thought about it. How strange.

The more Rosanna read, the more she was positive that “Rum” had lived in Storybrooke. The first clue had been “Jones” a few letters ago, but she hadn’t picked up on it. It was a common surname, and she didn’t realize that Killian’s last name was “Jones” until Sheriff Nolan had called him out on the street the other day. The letters were very recent- there was a definite chance she might be able to find the intended recipient if Rum truly had lived in Storybrooke. Not many people came and went from here.

After that she’d started looking back through the letters.

There were mentions of someone called Cora, but Rosanna had never heard of anyone with that name. In later letters there was one mention of “Henry,” which was the mayor’s adopted son, and one mention of “Granny,” which was a very possible candidate for Granny Lucas. Everyone in town called her Granny- everyone.

That meant that Rum was from here.

That meant that _Belle_ was from here.

Storybrooke was small, but there was always the possibility that Rosanna hadn’t met everyone yet. Maybe Belle was going by a different name, as Rum suspected. She wouldn’t give up yet- not while she was so close! Surely the woman hadn’t left town- no one ever left, not really, and even Emma and Rum were supposedly coming back.

X

_Dearest Belle,_

_It seems that I’ve been using my crutch for too long. I know you know what I’m talking about, both figuratively and literally. Modern medicine works well for my physical ailment, but I’m afraid it’s the other that pains me more._

_I am a coward and a fool. To think that I expected to survive in a world devoid of that which I have depended on for so long… I wish I was half as brave as you._

_-Rum_

X

“How are things going, Rosanna?” Archie asked. “Are you still having the dream?”

Rosanna leaned back in the lumpy cushions of Archie’s overstuffed armchair with a sigh.

“Sometimes,” she shrugged. “Everything is gray still. There’s never any other color, and I still can’t tell who anyone is.”

“Is that how you feel about Storybrooke?” he asked gently. Rosanna’s eyebrows shot up, surprised. 

“What? No, I-” but she stopped suddenly. Maybe he was right. This entire town was so full of life and people, as small as it was, but she felt like it was blank and dead, like something was missing and she just couldn’t find out what it was. There were so many pieces to her puzzle, so many fragments that didn’t seem to fit, from both the letters and her life.

Amnesia was hard, Archie said. It was hard to start on a clean slate and pick your way back up slowly again without knowing who you are, but you had to start somewhere. Maybe where she was starting was Manhattan.

“Maybe,” Rosanna nodded. “It’s just… something’s missing. I don’t know what it is, but something isn’t there that was before, and it’s like the hole is getting wider and tearing me apart…” She wrapped her arms around herself, wishing for a blanket or a jacket. Archie nodded gently.

“I see you walking around like you’re looking for something…”

“Not something,” Rosanna shook her head. “Well, not recently, at least. I’m always looking for something, but now… It’s more of a some _one_.”

“Oh?” He seemed surprised, but didn’t say more.

“That package you gave me- there were letters inside,” she explained. “They were all addressed to someone named Belle, but the package was sent to me. I started reading them, and… I think she could give me some answers.”

Archie didn’t respond for a long moment, swallowing hard before he spoke.

“What did the letters say?”

“Um… they just talked about traveling with someone to look for somebody,” she shrugged nonchalantly. “They didn’t make much sense.”

It was a total lie, and he could probably read it on her face, but she didn’t care. The letters were hers and hers alone until she found Belle, and as selfish and childish as it was, she didn’t want to share her mystery. It would be much more satisfying to solve it herself.

X

_Dearest Belle,_

_Still no sign of Bae. Emma received a call from her mother this morning. She says you’re doing well, but I suspect she may be trying to comfort me. I wish there was a way I could look in on you myself, but it seems I’m sentenced to watch from a distance. If there was something more I could do, believe me, I’d be doing everything in my power, but it seems all that can be done is to wait on the miners to do their job._

_The spinner stole the dagger and found the Dark One, stabbing him in the heart and taking the power for himself. With his during breath, the hooded man looked up at the poor spinner… and smiled. It was Zoso, and he had tricked the spinner into taking the burden of power from him. The poor spinner was now the new Dark One, and whoever had the dagger held the power to control him and his magic. Needless to say, the dagger was the Dark One’s most carefully guarded secret._

_As time went on, the poor spinner changed. The magic in the dagger changed him- instead of a humble peasant with the welfare of all in his mind, he was now a manipulative sorcerer, killing and cursing to have his way, and it terrified his son._

_The boy decided that he would have to do something to save his father._

_He went to the Reul Ghorm, the Blue Fairy, for help. Unfortunately, there was no way to rid his father of the curse while they were still in that world. She gave him a magic bean that would open a portal to another world, a land without magic. It was the only way to rid his father of the power, and perhaps to change him back into the kind man that he once was._

_-Rum_

X

The letters with bits and pieces of the spinner’s story came along fairly sporadically. Sometimes they were only a day apart, sometimes two, and sometimes Rum went a week without mentioning the dear little spinner at all.

Rosanna had never been much for fairy tales… but this? It sounded so real. In most of the fairy tales from her childhood there was a gorgeous princess waiting on her knight in shining armor to come take her away, or a peasant that found a fairy and got a wish, living out the rest of their days with love and riches. She’d never been fond of beautiful damsels in distress, knights in shining armor were typically not chivalrous at _all_ , love at first sight was a romantic myth, and all that jabber about magic and true love’s kiss… well, it simply didn’t exist.

Rosanna French was smart. She liked fiction, but she didn’t believe in dreaming your life away, fantasizing about true love and princes on white horses that would take you away from your troubles. White horses never came, and noble, brave princes in this day and age were far beyond her capacity for belief…

But… dreaming about a man who loved his son enough to give everything for him wasn’t so far out of her reach, was it?

X

_Dearest Belle,_

_I wish I could say that things are going well, but sadly that isn’t the case. We’ve searched the nearly a third of the city and gotten nothing for our troubles. Blast everything- I’ve waited twenty-eight years and now I can’t stand to wait a few days!_

_I’ll tell a little more of our story. Mayhap it will distract me._

_The boy took the magic bean back to his father, who agreed to go with him to the other land. However, when the portal opened in the ground, green and glowing and entirely unknown, the poor spinner shrunk back in fear. His son fell through the portal, and the spinner was not fast enough to follow, his own cowardice holding him back._

_It was only after he knew that his son was gone forever that he regretted his choices._

_The spinner made it his life to find another magic bean, another way into the same place that his son had gone. The Blue Fairy insisted that there was no other way, but he prodded her until she unwittingly gave away that there might be a curse to send him to the other place. He swore on that day that he would get back to his son, no matter the cost._

_During his search for a magic bean, the Dark One hunted down the pirate that had taken his wife, looking for vengeance. Little did he know that the pirate hadn’t taken his wife- she had run away with the pirate of her own free will. She had never loved the spinner._

_As a sorcerer, the spinner knew the power of true love. He knew what his wife had run to, but he could not forgive her for leaving their son, and he could not forgive her the humiliation that she caused him, and the walk back to tell his son that she was dead. In a way, he was angry at himself for committing the sane crimes, and in his rage he reached into her chest and pulled out her heart, crushing it to naught but dust in front of her pirate lover.  
You must understand, my Belle, that this is truly not a fairy tale. This is a story of loss, and pain, and desperation, and of a broken man who could not accept his own mistakes._

_-Rum_

X

The library opened as scheduled, a week to the day after Archie had brought her the box. Rosanna had had to force herself to finish things rather than simply reading through the letters all day. There were roughly seventy, if she had estimated correctly, and she was already almost halfway through. 

The mystery of the man was sucking her in almost as much as the spinner’s story. He didn’t talk much of his life, but it seemed like the spinner’s story had some odd parallels- a father searching for a son, for one. There was also the note from the beginning about “I’ll beat him with his own cane.” The spinner from the story walked with a cane, from an injury that would likely cause him pain later in life… _“Modern medicine works well for my physical ailment.”_

Rosanna spent the rest of the day after the library opened scouring every single fairy tale and mythology book on hand for a story even remotely similar to the spinner’s tale. She couldn’t find a single one.

 _“My story. Our story…”_ Was it possible that the take Rum was writing down was a parallel for his own life? Authors did that sometimes- it definitely wasn’t out of the question.

And if that was true, where did Belle fit in?

And why did Rosanna feel that every line of the spinner’s story made her more intrigued with the man writing it?

X

_Dearest Belle,_

_We’re so close that I can taste it. As the search draws to a close, I can’t help but wonder- will he be angry with me? I abandoned him all those years ago- left him in his time of need. How could he ever want his father near him again?_

_Does it matter? I can take all the punishment that I’m due as long as I know that my son is alive and safe in this world, that he’s happy, that’s he’s lived a good life... even without me._

_A little more of our story:_

_The spinner took on an apprentice, someone talented in the magical arts. She tried to seduce him, to take his power for her own, and it worked… but not for long. She was very powerful, and they nearly tore themselves apart trying to fight it out. Luckily, they both escaped with their lives, and she went on to have a daughter and a family of her own._

_That was when his plan went into action._

_The woman’s daughter was kind, but innocent, and the woman was corrupted. She killer her daughter’s true love and tried to force her to marry a widower king. The Dark One took the daughter under his wing, and she pushed her mother into a mirror, hopefully gone forever. The girl had her mother’s potential for power- all she needed was training, but she couldn’t think of anything but her lost love._

_The Dark One manipulated the girl, forcing her to believe that there would never be hope to bring back her lost love, and using her own anger and self-pity against her. She became as black as he was, and twice as ruthless. The girl turned into a woman, a Queen, and killed her new husband._

_The late king’s daughter was a thorn in her side for many reasons that would take far too long to detail in this letter. She wanted revenge, and the Queen would not be satisfied until she had it. It was then that the Dark One decided that this woman would be the perfect one to carry out his curse for him._

_-Rum_

X

Rosanna started towing the unread letters around in her purse, pulling one out to read whenever she got a spare moment. Rum’s handwriting was as familiar as her own by now, and she could pick up on his little loops and subtle flourishes. 

“What are you reading?” Ruby asked one day at lunch. Rosanna looked up at her friend, surprised, and hastily tucked the paper back in her purse.

“It’s nothing, just… an old letter.” She picked up her fork and stuffed a bite of salad in her mouth to avoid having to say anything else.

“Well, it’s certainly grabbing your attention.” The waitress plopped down on the opposite side of the booth, seemingly settling in for a story. Rosanna sighed and accepted that she would probably have to tell her something now.

“You… haven’t heard of anyone in the town named, Belle, have you?” she asked hesitantly. Rosanna had her hunches about Rum, and was almost positive that Emma was the town Sheriff that David Nolan was filling in for, but… no sign of Belle. Ruby’s eyes went wide, but she managed to keep perfect composure otherwise.

“Why?” Her tone was measured, as if she was trying not to hit a very particular nerve.

“That’s who they’re all addressed to.”

“Oh.” 

After a moment or two, Ruby mumbled something about cookies burning and scurried off into the kitchen.

X

_Dearest Belle,_

_We found him today. He’s well and perfect, and he’s grown up now, but he’s still my boy. He knew me at the door, and he wasn’t angry or afraid. I was so worried that he would shun me. I don’t deserve a son like him._

_And now, to commemorate this happy day, is one of the happier moments in our tale._

_Throughout the prior events, the ogre wars still raged in parts of the land. The Dark One received a call from a lord desperate to save his town… so desperate that he thought it wise to answer. The people offered him money for his services, but he declined. He could have all the gold in the world if that was his wish, and the Dark One didn’t deal in money, anyways._

_As his price, he took the lord’s daughter for his caretaker. In hindsight, he couldn’t say why. Maybe it was because she looked so brave, so stubborn. She was beautiful, yes, but he never noticed until later._

_The Dark One fell in love with her._

_She loved books, and she told stories. She wasn’t afraid of him, and though he was small and broken she was kind to him all the same. He teased her sometimes, but he never raised a hand to her once… and then came the day that he let her go._

_She didn’t go._

_She came back, and she wanted to know his story, the same story that I’m telling you. She kissed him, and she almost broke his curse- almost. Oh, yes. The Blue Fairy was wrong- true love’s kiss will break any curse… if you allow it to. The darkness in the man who was once the spinner was far too strong, and he raged at her, shook her, and threw her in the dungeon._

_He thought she was working for the Queen, his former apprentice, trying to discover his weaknesses. He never believed that anyone could love him, and the day that she finally left forever was the biggest regret of his life. The Queen came to the Dark One later to inform him of his lover’s death- killed because of her association with him._

_Alright, that wasn’t as happy as it might have been, but she was definitely the brightest light in the darkness of the spinner’s life._

_-Rum_

X

The library was closed on Sundays, to allow Rosanna some time to sleep and catch up on the few other things she needed to do in her life, such as sessions with Archie and taking a little time for herself. She finished her novel before going back to the box of letters, sitting at the top of her closet next to another box.

On impulse, she pulled down the shoebox with the shards of the cup in it, grabbing a pair of tweezers from the bathroom and a small tube of superglue from the kitchen drawer. If she wanted a puzzle, here was one that might delay her for a while. 

Maybe when he came back, the man would want his cup again, even after it had been shattered.

X

_Dearest Belle,_

_It seems I’ve caught some sort of flu. Bae insists we stay here until I recover- it should apparently only be a few days. It won’t be long before I can see you again, and I swear that I’ll make everything right when I come back. I’ll apologize a thousand times and I’ll work with the damned Sheriff, as long as it means you’ll come back._

_Here is the final part to our story._

_Not long after the Dark One’s love left, the Queen enacted her revenge. She was desperate enough that she took the heart of the one she loved most to cast it, and a darkness covered the land. It brought them all to a new world, to a world where there was no magic, no memories of the previous world, and there were no more happy endings, not for anyone except for the Queen._

_However, the spinner was crafty. When he created the curse, he created a way to break it, and when the time cane they would all be free once more, and he would be free to find his son._

_I hope to be back soon._

_-Rum_

X

The mayor’s son liked to come to the library after school.

It was where she first saw the book.

He carried it around with him- a large fairy tale book that said “Once Upon a Time” on the cover, and was constantly cajoling her to read some tale or another out of it for him. One day she relented, though she had to admit that these versions of the stories weren’t exactly typical.

He wanted her to read “Beauty and the Beast.” Rosanna had never felt so oblivious in her life.  
Belle. Belle the _princess_ , the beauty, the one who fell in love with a monster… except in this tale, the monster was Rumpelstiltskin. It matched. It all matched- every single story matched up with some part of the spinner’s take from rum’s letters- Oh, god. _Rum_.

Rumpelstiltskin?

A nickname. It had to be a nickname, or a pun, or some sort of inside joke between them. Rosanna had no clue what was going on, but there was no doubt that Rumpelstiltskin was not writing letters to his Beauty. He couldn’t be.

He was a fairy tale.

X

_My darling Belle,_

_My recovery is slow, but I will hopefully be home to see you soon. A little cold can’t keep me off my feet forever._

_-Rum_

Another note from Emma followed this one.

_Belle,_

_I don’t know if you’ll actually ever read this, but you should know that he isn’t getting better. He started coughing a week ago, but he’s stubborn and wouldn’t do anything about it._

_Bae and I think it might be a side effect of being away from Storybrooke for this long. We’re going to try to rush him home and hope for the best._

_-Emma_

As Rosanna read on, his strokes grew visibly weaker. She could tell what was happening, and he heart ached a little for the Belle of these letters. It wasn’t until she walked by the pawn shop one morning that the pieces began to fall into place. 

She felt like a complete idiot. The pawnbroker was missing, and the Sheriff was off with whoever wrote these letters. Why hadn’t she ever thought that they could be _together_?

Rum was the pawnbroker, the owner of the chipped cup, the man who had talked about magic beside her hospital bed. He had to be- there was no other explanation, at least not one that fit both the dates on the letters and the fact that they’d both been out of town. Nothing made sense about it, and what was almost worse was the fact that she couldn’t stay home to think, she had to put on a cheerful face for the time being… until Jefferson came into the library.

“I only wish that I’d been able to find her,” Rosanna shook her head sadly. Jefferson Maddock, one of the more eccentric characters in town, had stopped by the library with his little girl, and listened to her tale while Grace read.

“Find who?” Jefferson asked, confused.

“Belle,” Rosanna explained. “All those letters were addressed to Belle, and I looked all over town and asked everyone, but I could never find her. Can’t find Rum, either.”

“I never met her myself, but… I knew Rum, once.” he sounded hesitant, like he was trying to swallow something else behind his words.

“You did?” Rosanna’s eyes lit up, and Jefferson cringed slightly.

“A long time ago.”

“What was he like?” she asked, biting her lip.

“He was… interesting. Quite the character, actually. Very rash, very dangerous, and very, very protective of the people he loved...” 

“I only wish…” she began, but stopped herself. “I bet he loves her a lot, doesn’t he?” she asked instead, a kind of sadness creeping its way into her tone.

“Oh…” Jefferson took both of Rosanna’s hands in his, looking into her eyes with total sincerity. “Very, very much.”  
For some reason, she felt like she should be crying, but the tears wouldn’t come.

“What were you going to wish?” Jefferson asked carefully, curious.

“I… I was going to say…” Rosanna bit her lip, but forced herself to speak. “I only wish that one day someone might love me as much as he loves Belle. Whoever she is. Was. Whatever.” she tried to shrug it off, but now it was out there in the open. 

“It’s silly, anyways,” she shook her head and started sorting through a pile of returned books on the library desk. “True love only happens in fairy tales.”  
She didn’t look up at Jefferson, but she could hear the sorrow in his voice.

“Right.”

X

_Dearest Belle,_

_I love you._

_If I never have the chance to tell you that again, let it at least be known here. When we come back to Storybrooke, whenever that may be, you won’t know me and I won’t distress you by telling you. I’ve done enough damage already._

_All my love,_

_Rum_

That was the last letter.

The date was from one week ago.

Never before had he mentioned anything about being in love with the woman receiving his letters. Or rather… the woman who had never received the letters. Rosanna felt a pang at that thought, and she wasn’t sure if it was for the man, for the woman, for herself, or even for the poor spinner of the tale… or perhaps it was for all of them at once.

Rosanna finished putting the sup back together, and looked at it with new eyes for a long moment before bolting back to the library- Henry would be on his way to lunch with the mayor, and if she was lucky she might be able to catch him.

The story in the book- there had been a cup, a chipped cup with a blue design painted on the white china. Granted, her cup was cracked and could possibly have a piece or two out of place, but it was definitely chipped before it had been completely shattered. Rosanna didn’t realize that she was still holding it in her hand, delicate and almost whole once more, until she nearly dropped it crashing into Henry.

“Henry!” she exclaimed, breathing hard from running. “Do you have your storybook?”

“Yeah…?” he seemed confused, but when his gaze found the cup in her hand, he didn’t question her further. The book was in his backpack, as usual, and she flipped right to the tale of Beauty and the Beast.

The cup matched.

It was the exact same cup- the same design, everything! It- it made no sense! Belle and Rumpelstiltskin were bloody _book_ characters, not a pawnbroker and his lost love, but… but it _fit_. It was right and it fit the story, and she was very tempted to ask what sort of sick game this entire town was playing with her head when there was a wail from the street.

An ambulance.

X

As much as she hated the hospital, Rosanna found herself running towards it, sprinting the last few blocks to the building. David Nolan was inside, talking with a blonde woman she’d never seen before. She was wearing a Sheriff’s badge. 

“Rosanna?” he asked. “Why are you-”

“What’s going on? Who was in the ambulance?” she interrupted. The two exchanged glances. “Tell me!”

When no one spoke, Rosanna continued, frantic.

“You’re Emma, yeah?” she gestured to the woman’s badge. “I got your letters- Archie gave them to me. Now please, please tell me what’s going on!”  
It was the woman who spoke first.

“This…” she reached into the inside pocket of her jacket, pulling out a small, sealed envelope. “This is for you.”

Rosanna took it hesitantly, breaking the seal and pulling out the last piece of her mystery. The date at the top was from only two days ago.

_My darling Belle,_

_I am dying._

_I’ve come to accept it now. It’s only a matter of time, my love. They’re taking me back to Storybrooke, but who knows how much time I have left?  
Before I left, I know that I may have caused irreparable damage to our relationship. I hope that isn’t the case. I hope the miners can find what they’re looking for, and that they can cure you, but if not… I hope that the loss of memory dulls any pain you might feel at my passing. _

_I love you so much._

_-Rum_

Rosanna’s arm went slack, dropping to her side, the letter held gently in her hand.

It was from yesterday. This was current, this was happening right now, and the looks on their faces said it all. 

“He’s gone, isn’t he?”

She asked to see the body, just to have a face to put with the name, in a setting that wasn’t overshadowed by the cold, unforgiving presence of a coffin. 

He was older, maybe somewhere around fifty, but still handsome in his own way. A patch of gray hair was visible near his right ear, and he looked as if he could have been sleeping. Rosanna tried not to think about the fact that he wasn’t breathing.

Somehow she knew that she would never forget his face.

X

In the days before the funeral, Belle read the last letter over and over a hundred times, as if rereading it could bring the man himself back to life. If only she could see him, ask him some questions, just try to understand… but she couldn’t.

She found out the day of the funeral that Emma had mailed the letters from the Manhattan post office on Rum’s (apparently, he was more commonly known as “Mr. Gold”) request, and not too long after they had made their way back to Storybrooke.

The more she went back through everything, the more she felt like an observer, watching from the outside. She was like Eponine Thenardier, watching Cossette and Marius from the alleyway, delivering their messages… The poor girl was even half mad, just like Rosanna was, or like she felt. Granted, Eponine was mad in another way, but Belle felt just as lost and disturbed as she. Rosanna thought about Eponine’s last words- they were very fitting, and as much as she didn’t want to admit it… quite true.

_“I believe I was a little bit in love with you.”_

Rosanna had told herself from childhood that she’d never fall in love with a fairy tale, that much was crystal clear even though the heavy fog of amnesia coating her past. Stories were all well and good, but at the end of the day they were just stories, weren’t they?

She had completely, utterly failed.

It wasn’t just a story, not any longer. This was a man, a real man, someone who loved his wife or his girlfriend or whoever she was enough to send her a letter every dayWhat was a story and what was real had blended together so much that she wasn’t even sure what to believe any longer, and she had allowed herself to become irrevocably attached to a man who she hadn’t even met. 

And she was even so bold as to feel jealous of a woman she wasn’t even sure existed.

_You’re probably going by a different name now…_

She’d checked every woman in town and they hadn’t known, hadn’t even reacted beyond looking at her strangely and avoiding the topic. Maybe she left? Maybe Rum had parted with her on bad terms? But why had no one wanted to discuss it…?

_I’ve done enough damage already._

Yes, parting on bad terms was a possibility. Maybe Belle mad simply left? But why? Did they part on such bad terms that she felt like it was better to leave than to stay in a town where her past followed her around? And if so, then why did Rum still write her letters? Why did he still love her so much?

_I hope that the loss of memory dulls any pain you might feel at my passing._

That was the confusing part, the loss of memory. Rosanna didn’t understand how someone could just lose their memories…

But she had.

She suddenly felt sick to her stomach. Yes, her time in the asylum was bad, but how much did she actually remember from it? How many days? How many years? For all she knew it could have been one year or twenty- all the days blurred together in her mind.

People hesitated when they called her Rosanna. She could hear it in their voices, the little gulp like they were trying to stop their words in their throats.

And then the cup.

She didn’t remember why she’d smashed it, but there had to have been a reason. Bad terms… 

Why would everyone in town look at her like they pitied her?

Why would they all shy away at the mention of Belle?

Why would Rum write about memory loss in his letters?

Rosanna was missing somewhere around nineteen years of memory. That much was certain. Anything could have happened during that time… anything at all.

There was only one possible explanation for all this, and if she was right… she didn’t want to be right. If she was right her heart would break, but if she was wrong then it might already be shattered. Rosanna still didn't understand where the name "Belle" came from, or why the story was in Henry's book, or so many other things, but she walked away from the funeral with one thought and one thought only going over and over in her head.

_It was me._

X

“We can’t ever tell her, can we?” Bae asked, watching sadly as the woman who was not quite Belle any longer walked off back to her library, to a life that never was.

“That’s the eternal dilemma, isn’t it?” James asked, leaning against the wrought iron fence. “Like this, she lives half a life. She only knows half of who she is and feels part of what she could feel, and she wouldn’t believe us anyways, but…”

“But?”

“Sneezy has his memory back. The fairy dust works,” the prince explained. “We could give her the memories back… but would you really want to see her suffer that way?”

“Isn’t she suffering now?”

They watched as she walked down the street, head held high until she thought that no one could see her… and then she bowed her head and covered her face with her hands, shaking slightly with silent cries. David turned back to Bae very slowly.

“Yes.”


End file.
